“Wow, the main character sure looks like Rafal from Orb: On the Movement of the Earth,” I thought during 100 Meters‘ opening few minutes, where young protagonist Togashi tutors his classmate Komiya in sprinting. Turns out that the movie, directed by ON-GAKU: Our Sound‘s Kenji Iwaisawa, is based on a manga by Orb‘s Uoto. Upon initial publication in 2018, 100 Meters‘ five-volume manga was Uoto‘s big break into publishing, and follows the stories of two athletes from elementary school all the way to their professional careers in their mid-twenties. It’s a far cry from Orb‘s meticulously researched, dark, and dramatic historical drama. There’s an intensity to 100 Meters and its characters that do feel of a piece with Orb‘s, however, and they help to make this a magnetic film, throughout which I was transfixed.

Undoubtedly, the best sports anime film of the past few years is Takehiko Inoue‘s The First Slam Dunk, whose remarkable basketball game was visualized using advanced rotoscoping techniques. Rotoscoping can be divisive, especially amongst anime fans – just look at the incredibly mixed reaction to 2013’s Flowers of Evil, but there’s no argument with The First Slam Dunk – that movie utilized its techniques to maximal success. 100 Meter’s Iwaisawa is no stranger to the use of rotoscoping – his prior work, ON-GAKU, was a rotoscoped film based on his own self-published manga, and animated by amateurs. Iwaisawa took what worked with that film, and with a larger, professional team, applies it magnificently to the intensely competitive world of professional track and field.

There’s a combination of anime stylization and grounded, naturalistic look to the way that characters move in 100 Meters that manages to avoid that uncanny valley effect that sometimes plagues rotoscoped animation. In particular, there’s a profound sense of weight, of sheer muscle-shredding, teeth-grinding effort during the running scenes. They bring to mind Takeshi Koike‘s Animatrix short World Record, as the runners almost transcend reality for a scant few seconds as they chase practically superhuman record times.

If there’s a theme to the film, it’s “why do you run?”, and that answer is very different for each of the characters, and sometimes, when they lose sight of that, they fail. While some characters view each other as bitter rivals, in the end, what they are running against is themselves. I particularly liked older runner Zaitsu, who gives a speech to the younger pupils at school, giving hilariously awful, completely nihilistic advice, to the teachers’ horror. The thing is, it actually helps deuteragonist Komiya overcome his deep-seated anxieties, and drives him to succeed, though perhaps not in the healthiest of ways…

We learn very little about our characters’ lives outside of their love for the track. Protagonist Togashi is a quietly intense lad who is mindful of others, initially confident in his own abilities, and is wary of the fame he achieves relatively early in life. We see him struggle through crises of confidence, including one particularly brutal scene where he breaks down and cries in front of a pair of utterly bemused kids, great globs of tears and snot dripping onto the concrete beneath him. We’re left in no doubt about the meaning that running brings to his life, and the possibility that his future may be stolen from him by an injury is heartbreaking.

Komiya’s more of a mystery, a haunted-looking lad more in the vein of Death Note‘s L, with his dark eye shadows and awkward personality. As the story leaps across years, the characters change and grow physically, and it can be a little hard to track who is who. On more than one occasion, I mixed up one character for another for several scenes before I was able to confidently identify them accurately. I wonder if the source material had to be significantly edited to fit five entire volumes into the space of a single movie? Sadly, the manga is currently unavailable legally in English, so I can’t check.

By far the most impressive scene comes just over halfway through, at a rain-drenched athletic competition final. Comprised of a single long take filmed in live action, but meticulously painted over frame by frame, backgrounds and all, it’s a spine-tingling experience, full of motion, with a certain roughness, and brutal physicality to it. Togashi, standing alone in disbelief at the end, as his silhouette gradually disappears into the pouring rain, is a potent image. I shudder to think of the insane amount of work it must have taken to complete this scene.

The detailed backgrounds have the appearance of oil paintings, all-natural, almost photorealistic colors. Other, slow-motion shots look more pastel-like, and certain clever scene transitions, such as time-skips during running, are remarkable. The overall atmosphere is significantly enhanced by an excellent soundtrack, and I especially enjoyed the urgent, upbeat ending song Rashisa by Official HiGE DANdism, which suits the movie’s tone and subject matter perfectly.

My favorite character is Kaido, who we meet later in the movie as an adult athlete. His mirror shades never come off, and his full face beard makes him look a lot older than his fellow competitors. His characterization is immeasurably enhanced by voice actor Kenjirō Tsuda, whom Orb fans will recognize as the voice of the terrifying inquisitor Nowak. His line delivery via low-pitched drawl suits Kaido perfectly, and I love the role he plays in the story.

At first glance, 100 Meters‘ seemingly ambiguous ending may seem a little disappointing to viewers keen to learn which of the main characters ultimately “wins”, but that’s to miss the point of this story. As they each contend with their own motivations and those of their rivals, the ultimate answer to why they run is not to win, but “for us to give our absolute all, we need nothing else.” It’s a profound examination of the athlete’s psyche, and a refutation of the constant drive to win at all costs, while grinding opponents into the dust. That kind of mindset is shown to be harmful and unhealthy. Yes, winning is great, but what more can be asked of a person than to do the absolute best they can? Director Iwaisama clearly expended a great deal of time and effort to make this excellent film, and he should feel proud of achieving his best work so far.

Die My Love Movie Review

Lynne Ramsay’s Die My Love is not a film designed for comfort. It arrives with the intensity of a fever dream and the jagged edges of a raw nerve, refusing to offer easy answers or tidy resolutions to the existential nightmare unfolding on screen.

This is film as immersion therapy, plunging viewers headfirst into the psychological disintegration of Grace, a young mother trapped in rural Montana whose grip on reality splinters with each passing day. At countless points through this film, I found myself questioning my own sanity and wondering what was actually happening. Was it real? Was it a metaphor? Or was it a dream or a hallucination? Honestly, by the end, I was asking those same questions about the film as a whole.

What’s Die My Love About?

Based on Ariana Harwicz’s 2012 novel, “Die My Love follows Grace (Jennifer Lawrence) and Jackson (Robert Pattinson), a couple who relocate from New York City to Jackson’s inherited family home in the Montana wilderness. What begins as an idyllic escape quickly transforms into something far more sinister. After the birth of their child, Grace descends into severe postpartum depression that morphs into full psychosis, her sense of self eroding as the walls close in around her.

The movie takes us through Grace’s increasingly disturbing behavior: crawling through tall grass with a butcher knife, throwing herself through glass doors, tearing sinks from bathroom walls, and engaging in primal acts of desperation that blur the line between sexuality and violence.

The film’s structure deliberately disorients. Time becomes elastic and ambiguous, with scenes unfolding in a non-linear fashion that mirrors Grace’s fractured mental state. We see glimpses of Grace and Jackson’s passionate early days in their relationship juxtaposed against the numbing monotony of new parenthood.

Jackson’s mother, Pam (Sissy Spacek), lives nearby and struggles with her own tenuous grip on reality following the recent death of her husband, Harry (Nick Nolte). There’s also Karl (LaKeith Stanfield), another new parent who may or may not be real, existing somewhere in the liminal space between Grace’s imagination and actual encounters.

Die My Love Movie Trailer

Die My Love Movie Review: What I Did and Didn’t Like

Shot on 35mm film in a claustrophobic 4:3 aspect ratio, the film traps audiences in Grace’s perspective. Even when she roams through vast Montana landscapes, there’s no escape. Cinematographer Seamus McGarvey utilized Kodak Ektachrome reversal stock to create a skewed, almost dreamlike visual signature that enhances the film’s disorienting quality. The result is a viewing experience that feels suffocating and overwhelming, mirroring the protagonist’s psychological imprisonment.

But what really made Die My Love so compelling, and simultaneously so maddening (for me), is its refusal to conform to traditional narrative structures. Ramsay has created a mood piece that prioritizes emotional truth over plot mechanics, and the results are both mesmerizing and exasperating. The film succeeds brilliantly in making you feel Grace’s isolation and desperation. The use of that boxy 4:3 frame constantly reminds us that Grace is trapped, no matter how much open space surrounds her.

The dark humor threaded throughout is unexpected and effective. Grace’s interactions with the people in her life carry an absurdist quality that prevents the film from becoming oppressively bleak. When Jackson brings home an incessantly barking dog expecting Grace to care for it while he travels for work, the scene plays as both tragedy and dark comedy. Lawrence’s commitment to these moments of black humor gives them an uncomfortable authenticity.

The Script

Working from a screenplay she co-wrote with playwrights Enda Walsh and Alice Birch, Ramsay transforms Harwicz’s internal monologue into a predominantly visual experience. The novel is written in a stream-of-consciousness style, filled with poisonous thoughts and maternal ambivalence, but Ramsay wisely avoids leaning too heavily on voiceover or dialogue-heavy exposition. Instead, the script relies on physicality and behavior to convey Grace’s psychological state.

The screenplay’s greatest strength lies in its resistance to easy categorization or diagnosis. Grace is never explicitly diagnosed with postpartum depression or psychosis. There are no scenes with doctors prescribing medication or family interventions with clear treatment plans. This omission is deliberate. Director Lynne Ramsay pushed back against critics who labeled the film simply as a postpartum depression story, stating at Cannes: “This whole postpartum thing is just bullshit. It’s not about that. It’s about a relationship breaking down, it’s about love breaking down, and sex breaking down after having a baby. And it’s also about a creative block.”

The script explores how Grace’s identity as a writer has been subsumed by motherhood, how sexual intimacy transforms (or disappears) after childbirth, and how isolation can accelerate mental decline. Grace’s struggles become universal even as they manifest in extreme, specific ways.

A Complicated Service to Maternal Mental Health?

Yet this ambiguity raises questions about the film’s service to those dealing with postpartum depression. Does Die My Love do justice to this experience?

The answer is complicated. On one hand, the film’s unflinching portrayal of maternal ambivalence and psychological suffering gives voice to feelings many new mothers experience but fear acknowledging. The shame, the isolation, the sense of losing yourself while everyone expects you to be grateful and fulfilled… these emotional truths resonate powerfully.

Lawrence herself, who experienced postpartum depression after filming, noted in interviews that watching the film helped her understand Grace’s mindset: “I hadn’t experienced postpartum while filming, but I knew that suicide is a leading cause of death among new moms. I couldn’t understand how she could do that because I loved my baby so much. But once I experienced postpartum, I realized it has nothing to do with love; it’s about feeling imperfect next to something so perfect.”

On the other hand, by refusing to name Grace’s condition or explicitly show her receiving help, the film risks leaving viewers without resources or hope. And, while artistically bold, the ending (don’t worry, no spoilers here), may not offer much solace to those seeking affirmation that recovery is possible.

Ramsay’s comments about the film’s metaphorical nature suggest she views Grace’s self-destruction as a kind of liberation. Speaking about the ending (again, trust me, no spoilers), she explained: “I was trying my hardest. It’s not in the book. I just felt like she wants to burn the world down. It’s a metaphorical liberation.”

This framing positions the film more as a Gothic tale about a woman who refuses to be domesticated. Whether this artistic choice serves or undermines the understanding of postpartum mental health issues remains an open question….

The Performances

Jennifer Lawrence as Grace

The performances in Die My Love are without question the film’s strongest element. Jennifer Lawrence delivers what is arguably the most challenging and uncompromising work of her career. This is not the charismatic, accessible Lawrence of The Hunger Games or Silver Linings Playbook. This is something feral, raw, and completely untethered. She filmed many of these scenes while four-and-a-half months pregnant with her second child, adding an extraordinary physical and emotional layer to an already demanding role.

Lawrence’s Grace is simultaneously seductive and repellent, maternal and destructive, vulnerable and terrifying. She shifts from catatonic emptiness to explosive rage within single takes, her body language morphing from predatory crawling to collapsed exhaustion.

The physicality of the performance is stunning. Whether she’s scratching bathroom walls until her nails bleed, climbing inside a refrigerator, or prowling on all fours through grass like an animal stalking prey, Lawrence commits completely. There’s no vanity here, no concern for likability or traditional markers of movie-star glamour. She embodies Grace’s dissolution with a freedom that feels almost dangerous to watch.

Critics have already begun discussing Oscar potential for Lawrence’s performance, which would be her fifth nomination. The comparison to her work in 2017’s Mother! is inevitable, but this feels even more visceral and unprotected. 

Robert Pattinson as Jackson

Robert Pattinson wisely portrays Jackson in a deliberately understated manner, creating a stark contrast to Lawrence’s volcanic performance. His Jackson is not a villain, but rather a well-meaning man completely out of his depth. Pattinson channels an everyman quality, portraying a thirty-something man-child who brings home a dog, expecting his struggling wife to care for it, and suggests his wife “talk” about her feelings, while fundamentally not understanding the severity of her crisis.

The performance is effective precisely because Jackson’s ordinariness makes Grace’s extraordinary suffering more isolating. Pattinson and Lawrence share genuine chemistry, particularly in the film’s opening sequences, where they communicate through physicality rather than words, nuzzling, biting, wrestling in primal displays of desire.

The Supporting Cast

Sissy Spacek delivers a quietly powerful performance as Pam, Jackson’s widowed mother, who recognizes something of her own struggles in Grace’s unraveling. Spacek brings maternal warmth tinged with her own grief and instability, sleepwalking with a gun in scenes that blur the line between dark comedy and genuine menace. Her scenes with Lawrence crackle with understanding, two women adrift in their own ways, connected by shared loss and dislocation. 

LaKeith Stanfield’s Karl exists in an ethereal space that keeps audiences guessing whether he’s real or a figment of Grace’s imagination. His understated performance adds to this ambiguity, making his interactions with Grace feel simultaneously grounded and dreamlike. The film never definitively confirms Karl’s reality, leaving viewers to question how many of his scenes actually happened versus whether they exist purely in Grace’s fractured psyche (one of my many ‘what the heck is going on’ moments…).

Overall Thoughts

Die My Love is not for everyone, and it doesn’t pretend to be. Ramsay has crafted a film that exists in the space between arthouse provocation and genuine psychological horror, borrowing techniques from Antonin Artaud’s Theater of Cruelty to break down the barriers that keep audiences feeling safe.

The film works best when understood not as a straightforward narrative but as a sensory experience designed to replicate Grace’s mental state. The aggressive sound design, with blaring rock music and deafening slams that assault the ears… the claustrophobic framing that traps characters in doorways and corners… the time distortions that make it impossible to track how much time has passed… all of these choices serve to destabilize viewers in ways that mirror the protagonist’s experience. When you emerge from Die My Love, you should feel like you’ve been through something, like you’ve barely survived tumultuous rapids. That’s the point.

But does that make a good film? The question of whether this movie serves those experiencing postpartum depression remains complex. It offers validation for dark feelings rarely depicted on screen, but it also provides no roadmap for recovery or healing. Grace’s story ends in metaphorical immolation, and while Ramsay intends this as liberation rather than tragedy, the distinction may be lost on viewers seeking hope.

Perhaps the film’s greatest service is simply its willingness to depict maternal struggle without sentimentality or easy resolution, to show that sometimes love isn’t enough to fix what’s broken, and that the societal pressure to perform gratitude for motherhood can itself become suffocating.

However, this one just didn’t work for me – despite the beautiful cinematography and incredible performances.

Die For Me Movie Review: Final Grade

Grade: C-

Director: Guillermo del Toro

Cast: Oscar Isaac, Jacon Elordi, Mia Goth and Christoph Waltz

Rating: ★★★.5

Acclaimed filmmaker Guillermo del Toro returns to the candlelit corridors of Gothic horror with his take on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, a realm he last flirted with in Crimson Peak (2015). This time, the canvas is bigger, shinier and powered by Netflix money, with a marquee cast led by Oscar Isaac as Victor Frankenstein, Jacob Elordi as the Creature, Mia Goth as Elizabeth, and Christoph Waltz as the patrician benefactor, Henrich Harlander. Around them orbit David Bradley, Charles Dance and Felix Kammerer, each adding texture to a tale that’s equal parts spectacle and self-importance.

The movie opens in a frozen wasteland where a stranded captain drags a wounded Victor aboard, only to face a brutal assault from Victor’s creation. From there, the film traces Victor’s ascent from obsessive student to self-anointed god—piecing together bodies, flirting with immortality, and unleashing a being whose hunger for connection curdles into rage. Guillermo keeps the period setting, shifts character dynamics (William as an adult, Elizabeth refocused), and steers the narrative toward a collision between maker and made that comes faster than you expect.

Performance-wise, Jacob is the film’s heartbeat. He disappears into the role, toggling between naive wonder and feral impulse. The physicality sells both the creature’s fragility and his terrible force. Oscar leans into Victor’s fevered ambition—slick, persuasive, and increasingly hollowed out—as the consequences of his “invention” spiral. Mia brings a prickly curiosity to Elizabeth, especially in moments where her compassion toward the Creature reframes their dynamic. And Christoph has a ball as Harlander, the velvet-gloved capitalist who funds genius and shrugs at the fallout; he strolls through scenes with a venture capitalist’s swagger dressed in 19th-century finery.

Crucially, the film moves. Despite the weight of Mary Shelley’s text, Guillermo hits the big beats cleanly. When it wants to thrill—snapped vertebrae, bone-on-stone brutality—it does, and the orchestration of action is crisp even when the camera averts its gaze at the crucial second.

Some character recalibrations don’t land. Aging William up, reassigning relationships and compressing arcs drains poignancy from key turns—his final line to Victor barely stings because the bond hasn’t been built. Elizabeth is compelling in concept, but the script sidelines her when it matters most, handing her an exit that feels more mechanical than tragic.